


i fall for you (the same as autumn leaves do)

by artanogon



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, F/M, Fluff and Mush, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, a very accurate tag, and with a great amount of grief on the part of the readers, baker!gilan, brief burn injuries/arson mention, happy birthday lyn!!, implied cralt, no beta we die like alyss: nonsensically, out of nowhere, ranger!jenny, some other role swaps as well, the original male character is lewis and lewis was an item with gilan in the past, yeah those two co-exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artanogon/pseuds/artanogon
Summary: It was five in the morning on a Sevenday when Jenny met the baker boy for the first time.(Or, Jenny is a ranger. Gilan is a baker in her assigned fief. They become friends, and perhaps a tad more.)
Relationships: Gilan/Original Male Character, Jennifer "Jenny" Dalby/Gilan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	i fall for you (the same as autumn leaves do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theravenlyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theravenlyn/gifts).



> my dear beloved lyn!! hap borth!!
> 
> remember that au you did where some of the main RA couples swapped roles? yeah, the gilan and jenny one hit different and i promptly went “baker gilan” and “ooh this could be a fun short fic” and now it’s months later, it’s your birthday, and that fic has become 6.3k. oops?
> 
> but yes! i’m so grateful you’re alive, and as such, this mess of bibble is dedicated to you. 
> 
> the link to the original art is here: https://theravenlyn-art.tumblr.com/post/625069889122697216/for-the-requests-what-about-a-job-switch-like

It was five in the morning on a Sevenday when Jenny met the baker boy for the first time. She’d been out looking over the new fief— she’d only been here a week and felt oddly out of place. The townsfolk here weren’t the friendliest and looked upon Rangers with suspicion. She missed Redmont, with Will and Alyss and Cassandra and George. She’d been the oldest and most sociable of them and had developed a lot of connections. Plus, even when she’d been chosen as Halt’s apprentice, she had kept up consistent visits and communications with her younger friends.

Her younger siblings, really. 

There, she was liked. Here, the weather was cold and she got dirty looks and sneers and stares. Some of them hadn’t believed her to be a Ranger, because _well, you’re a girl_ and _you’re not built like a Ranger_ and a thousand other reasons. 

She wished she had a ladle to smack them with. That’s what Master Chubb back in Redmont would have done. He was the first one who had taught her to hold her head high, to not take garbage or harsh words for anyone, and a handy way to whack someone in just the right way to knock them out (that particular incident after a kitchen burglar). 

Then again, that wasn’t professional. Or expected of her. And if she was ever to be taken seriously, she had to be calm and tempered and level-headed, showing that she was both capable and mature enough to be here. That was what Halt would have wanted. 

Or, Halt might have erred on the side of smacking them with a ladle too. Jenny wasn’t sure. 

She’d been walking through the woods, taking stock of the area and skirting the edge of town. This place had seen a rise in bandit attacks recently and it was a seaside town as well, so there was the running risk of a Skandian coastline raid. She had never faced Skandians before. She would rise to the challenge if she had to, but if she was honest, she’d prefer to not. 

She found a more secluded path and followed it, checking any possible routes and lead-off trails and evidence of footprints. It seemed rarely used, but it was a good stealthy entrance point. She’d make a habit of checking it regularly. 

Then, as she neared the local village again from a new angle, the smell of baking bread hit her nostrils. The sweet, yeasty smell was like being back in the Redmont kitchens again and helping with the baking, like walking through familiar towns and stopping at her favourite places where they greeted her with a smile.

Plus, she’d not eaten breakfast yet, wanting to be up before the townsfolk. But of course a baker would have to be up early to start the day before the clients came in. 

Her stomach rumbled as she followed the smell. The bakery was ahead of her, a small and charming affair with wood beams, painted in the classic brown and white style down here in the South. Smoke rose from the chimney and the windows were open, a sign at the front proclaiming it closed until six thirty. 

She looked at it for a moment and couldn’t help but smile. It felt cozy and calm, reassuring in a way. 

Hmm. This was why she shouldn’t be doing things like this when she was hungry. It made her nonsensical. 

She made her way down the side of the bakery, intending to look over the town itself again before the streets were flooded, when she was startled by a voice from above her. 

“Fine morning, ma’am.”

Jenny looked up abruptly, internally snapping at herself for being caught off guard and not maintaining constant vigilance of the area around her. Halt had always said that people tended to seldom look up and left themselves vulnerable in the process. She ought to have remembered that. 

A boy around her age leaned on the windowsill, his bronze forearms dusted in flour and a baker’s cap half-sagging from where it had been placed jauntily on his head. He was tall and lanky and had a grin tugging at his lips— he had to lean down quite a bit to even rest on the windowsill. 

Jenny nodded to him. “Fine morning indeed. You’re up early.”

He shrugged. “Part of the trade. And so are you, even if you’re not a baker.” 

“Hmm. You don’t know that yet. I might be a baker in secret, or a baker on vacation.”

The boy shook his head, something mildly incredulous and yet amused written on his face. “You’re a Ranger, the new one everyone’s been talking about. Not a baker.”

“I could be one in secret.”

The boy laughed, straightening his cap. He had thick and tousled brown hair, she noticed. Well, messy, really. Like he hadn’t bothered to brush it before getting up. His overall appearance was rather dishevelled and rumpled, but she didn’t look at her best either. No one did, this early in the morning.

A delicious smell, sweet and fruity, waited out of what she assumed was the kitchen area. Her stomach rumbled again and she ducked her head, embarrassed. The boy chuckled a little bit and didn’t comment on it, instead asking, “How long have you been out here?”

Jenny paused, considered. “A while,” she said vaguely. “Just… wandering around.”

He shrugged with a smile, stood up from the windowsill. He was so tall he barely fit in the frame. “Eh. It’s not my business anyways.” He looked at her for a moment. “Hang on. I’ve just finished several loaves— I’ll bring you one.”

“Oh— you don’t have to,” Jenny said, startled. The bakery wasn’t open anyways and he was under no obligation to. 

He shrugged the words aside with a wave of his hand. “Nah, trust me, it’s fine.” 

He vanished for a few moments, came back with a loaf of bread in a bag. The crust was golden-brown and cracked at the top with a split of white. It looked beautiful and it smelled yeasty and heavenly. He reached down from the window, passed it to her, and she gave him a handful of coins. He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and leaned back up. “I’ve got to get back to it. But it was nice to meet you, ah—“

“Jenny,” she said, and he extended his hand. They shook. His hands were calloused, with marks of burn scars. She had both of her own, though she imagined from very different sorts of lives and experiences. 

He grinned at her, and it was rather like being blinded by the sun. “Gilan.”

She nodded to him. “Nice to meet you too, Gilan.”

He ducked back into the room, and then paused to look back at her for a minute. “Swing by sometime when we’re properly open. I think I’ve made a decent enough place. The town likes it.”

She couldn’t help it, and smiled back. “I will.” 

With a spark in his eyes, he waved goodbye to her, and Jenny was left with warm bread in her hand and a warm feeling in her heart. 

~~~ 

The next time she saw him, she was in town shopping and it was a more reasonable hour of the day. The town and marketplace was bustling, and the bakery in particular seemed to have a lot of visitors. It had been a couple of weeks since Jenny had seen him and she felt much more well-adjusted now, although many of the hostile glares hadn’t lessened. 

She remembered her promise and decided she may as well. 

The shop looked the same as ever from a distance, but as she got closer and into the bubble of the crowd, it seemed different. More lively. 

The line quickly passed and she found herself in the shop. The walls were beautiful carved stone with warm wooden beams, the whole place lit by wide windows with deep red curtains. There were a few booths and a display counter with the day’s wares, stacks of golden bread and sweet muffins and pastries and pies. She wondered if it was Gilan’s work alone or if he had help. It looked far too much for a single man to make. 

Many patrons were mingling around the space, choosing this and that and chattering amongst themselves. The air smelled like yeast and sugar and some faintly fruity smell she couldn’t quite place, like sweet-tart berries with a hint of sharpness to them. Chubb or one of his students could have named it. 

Gilan stood at the counter, and he was much taller than he had appeared at the window. He had a cheerful, friendly smile and looked genuinely enthused to be interacting with the patrons, hopping about the place. He towered over most of the short-ish customers, more awake and alive and warm than he had seemed on the cold misty morning. 

The line dwindled in front of her until Jenny was standing at the counter. Gilan’s smile brightened. “Jenny! I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

Jenny chuckled a bit and shook her head. “How could I ever?”

How could she forget the baker boy with flour on his hands and kind words to say? He reminded her of someone she couldn’t quite place, with his easy demeanour and the sort of appealing friendship that seemed so natural. She couldn’t figure it out. But still, he felt like a friend. 

She perused the items for a moment, asked for a loaf of bread and then decided that it was worth a tiny indulgence (they were reasonable prices, after all) and ordered a pastry as well. They exchanged money while Gilan asked her about her morning, and though the conversation was brief, she promised him as she handed him the money that she’d come back soon when she needed more bread. 

He looked as if he could have lit up the room. 

Jenny waved goodbye and left the slightly crowded shop, and her steps felt light and easy. She couldn’t put a name to it. It wasn’t any kind of giddiness, certainly not something so foolish as love at first sight— she found the very notion ridiculous. She would love someone only when she knew them, when she trusted them. 

Gilan, however, seemed like someone she wanted to be friends with. 

Maybe she could try. 

That sounded nice. 

Yes, she thought to herself as she headed back to the cabin. That sounded nice indeed. 

~~~

Jenny had never quite had a friend her own age. Sure, she had looked after the younger ward kids, but they were simply that. Younger. Like siblings, someone you looked after and raised. They weren’t someone you could be irresponsible with or bond with, someone you didn’t have to worry about or look after. 

As she spent more and more time with Gilan, she was realising what it was like to have a friend like her. 

At first they just hung out at the bakery, sometimes he would take a few minutes break while another boy took over the register. They would sit together and chat, and once they sat out back together with coffee Jenny brought over. Gilan had a wonderful and wicked sense of humour and they spent much of the time laughing. They bonded over their love of cooking and baking, and Gilan told her the horror story of the first time he had tried to make a meat pie. 

After that, they started hanging out in the forest or at Jenny’s cabin. Once, he gave her a cooking lesson on making proper biscuits, and they’d sat out on the porch together and ate them and chatted while the clouds rolled overhead. 

There were a few more instances of bandits and Jenny saw them off with relative ease, but she had the local town station more guards and made sure to keep updating them on new findings and updates. There didn’t seem to be any connection, they seemed random, but she kept on her toes. 

But for the most part, she felt free. Not so cold, not so lonely. Gilan was sunshine and warmth and it made everything easier. 

Once they were laughing so hard over an old story of hers when Will had broken into the Baron’s office that they were nearly sick, and Gilan had made a snarky comment and Jenny had responded by roughly shouldering him into the grass. His hat had come off and his hair was a mess. He looked young, and free, and they were happy. 

For a while, life was easy. Then the bandit attacks increased. Townspeople were being harmed now, stores defaced and there seemed to be a consistency to them that hadn’t been there before. Jenny became a figure of protection and slowly the townspeople explained that these were like the attacks from before, that this was why they’d wanted help in the first place. She saw less and less of Gilan, too busy hounding patrols and speaking with the local baron, organising this or that. 

Then a note appeared on her doorstep, written in slightly messy and loopy handwriting, a brief message that wished her well and told her to take care, with a Gilan’s name signed at the bottom. There was a bag too, with her regular loaf of bread and the same blackberry pastry she had ordered a few times.

The gesture made her smile despite herself.

She still didn’t see him. Once a week, there would be bread again when she came back from her meeting with the baron. She debated going to see him, but set the idea aside until a time when she could afford to be less vigilant. She rarely went into the town now except for essential shopping, and that wasn’t often at all.

Once she came back and found him standing there. He looked surprised to see her and she noticed he was carrying the delivery. She set down her stuff and said hello and they chatted for a few minutes, sitting on the front doorstep together. 

“You look worried,” Gilan said after a couple of moments of silence. 

She shrugged a shoulder, knit her hands together. She was confused nowadays— she wasn’t sure how to go about handling the lessening but still happening attacks, she wasn’t sure what it would mean and why this village was being targeted specifically. She had asked around, but no answers had been found. 

It could be nothing at all. It could be that the villagers were hiding something. 

She wasn’t sure how to ask Gilan that, or even if she should. 

In that moment, she realised she didn’t know much about him. She knew that he had a father, a knight at the fief’s castle and a dead mother. She knew he loved baking and had learned it from his mother. She knew that he was incredibly good at cooking, honed over years of practise, and that he ran the bakery with a couple of town friends and another boy named Lewis. She’d seen Lewis at the castle infirmary occasionally, clothed in doctor’s scrubs, but she’d never asked. 

Other than that, she didn’t know anything. What his life was like, what he enjoyed beyond baking and bad jokes. How he was seen in the town. 

She hadn’t known him for long— but wasn’t she supposed to know things like this? Wasn’t that part of a Ranger’s job? 

Or did they not have to treat their friends the same way? 

Halt, it seemed, knew everything about Crowley. But they had known each other for years and years and it seemed that everything between them wasn’t entirely platonic, or at least there was some deeper level of devotion there. And besides, Crowley was a Ranger too. There wasn’t that difference between them.

It felt like a small wedge, a sheet of glass between her and Gilan. The thought hurt a bit. 

Gilan shoved her shoulder gently. “Hey. You didn’t answer my question.”

She jolted out of her thoughts, smiled slightly. “I wasn’t aware you’d asked me one, that was a statement, not a question.”

“The _intent_ was there,” he said, a bit of the light back in his face. It was sunny today, heading well into summer and leaving the colder spring behind. The sky, while it still had clouds in it, was a brilliant deep shade of blue and the sun glared bright on their heads. The summer sun had tanned her skin, started to lighten her hair as it always did. She spent more time outside than indoors now. It was nice. It could have been perfect. 

Then again, a Ranger’s life never was. And many Rangers were in much worse situations and more danger than she was. She could handle it, and she had no right to complain anyways. She had been trained and disciplined for such things. She wouldn’t be shaken so easily. 

Right? 

“I… I’m worried, I guess.”

He frowned, shifted so that his shoulder was leaning against hers. The slight touch was comforting, grounding. “Bandits?”

“Among other things,” she said vaguely. 

He nodded, didn’t press her for information, just sat there and leaned his head down (almost completely sideways, he was ridiculously tall even when sitting down) against hers. The sun burned onto her skin and she was aware of the pile of reports she had to handle, the patrols and check-ins and then the night watch when dusk settled and the attacks were liable to start again. 

But right now, she was at peace. She could stay here for a few minutes, at the least. She didn’t get much time with people she cared about anymore. Sometimes that could make her lose her grip. 

As they sat and watched the clouds drift by, Jenny looked towards Gilan. “How long have you been here? The village, I mean?”

Gilan stretched his legs out, keeping his eyes on the sky. “A while. I was born in Redmont, where my dad was trained. Then he got stationed in this fief and my mom and I went with him. So I’ve been here… about twelve years now, I guess.”

“So you’re from Redmont too,” she said. He nodded. She shifted so she could put an arm around his shoulders— even though he was _ridiculously_ tall, making her reach up far more than she should have to. He was like a beanpole. A tree. She’d told him as much once in a fit of pique when he had mocked her for her height, and he’d laughed so hard he fell over.

She had called him a felled tree then. Her stomach had hurt from laughing. 

It was odd how easy it was to be around him.

Or maybe not odd at all. 

They were silent for a few minutes, then Gilan spoke again. “How are your friends from the Ward doing?”

“Oh.” Jenny paused for a moment. He had remembered, and bothered to check in. He seemed to pay attention to small details like that. She wasn’t as good at it— not when it came to people, anyways. She was too busy focused on facts and remembering what she deemed as ‘important’, which was often related to business. Perhaps she should try and put more importance on people. “They’re doing well. Will’s considering being a Courier— he used to be so awkward, did you know? He was always stumbling over himself and he liked to roll around in the dirt. He’s still climbing trees.”

Gilan chuckled. “He’ll be an interesting diplomat.”

She leaned against him. He smelled like baking goods and spices, ones that she couldn’t name but weren’t ones she was used to. His goods were known for that, for interesting spices compared to most bland bakeries, with combinations she wouldn’t have thought of and names she’d never heard of. He said that he’d relied on Lewis for advice, who was from the Middle Kingdoms and Ashish, another one of his friends who was from Indus. Both areas were known for spices that would be considered unusual for Araluen. She liked the idea. 

“Doubtlessly,” she agreed. “My mentor told me in his latest letter he’s thinking about taking another apprentice. I hope they’re not better than me.”

He laughed at that. “Jenny, you’re irreplaceable. If he has any sense at all, he’ll know that.”

“Oh, shut up.” She shoved him jokingly and almost knocked him over. Even though he was so tall, he was lanky and only muscled enough for carrying sacks of flour and other baking ingredients. She was stockier than him and well-muscled, trained for hours of riding and combat and a heavy bow with a large draw weight. 

She could probably pick him up and carry him. The mental image was hilarious. 

“Cassandra is doing well. Apparently she plans to join Battle School. There’s not many girls in Battle School, but if anyone can make it, she can. I’d like to see the look on Rodney’s face when she bowls his best pupil into the ground.” Cassandra was small, like her, but she was incredibly fierce and trained near constantly. Alyss was fast, incredibly so, but Cassandra could leave her in the dust. And, she was handy with a sword. That was always a plus. 

She paused, searching for words. “George is doing well, he’s not decided yet. I think he’d do well in Scribeschool. He’s got a stuttering problem, but if the way Nigel talks is any indication, that doesn’t last for long. He’ll be insufferable within a week. Talking all our ears off. When you can get him to speak, he’s blunt too. I fear my ego might never recover.” 

She could feel Gilan’s chest shake with laughter. 

A bird chirped somewhere in the distance. Finally, Jenny let go of him and stood, dusting her trousers off. “I should probably get back to it. I have reports to handle.”

Gilan nodded, handed her the bag. She took it gratefully. “Take care, Jenny.”

“You too,” she said. Then, before she could change her mind, she spoke. “You’re welcome to visit any time. I’m busy a lot now but if I’m home… I’d still like to see you.”

He paused, then smiled. “I’ll remember that.”

“It would be awkward if you didn’t. I might be left waiting for weeks. Our entire friendship may crumble.

“I’ll be sure to call on you, then.”

She waved goodbye to him as he left. Worry tugged at her heartstrings as she remembered the attacks that had occurred recently at nightfall, and for a moment she thought she saw a shadow following Gilan’s path. She looked closer, scanning carefully, and there was nothing. She knew it had been her mind and her eyes playing a trick on her, but some nagging apprehension gnawed at the edge of her consciousness as she walked back into the cabin.

He would be alright. She had no reason to be afraid. There had been no deaths, only minor injuries. This was being sorted and investigated, and the King was sending Halt over as well to help her get to the root of it. 

It was only her mind playing tricks on her. 

~~~ 

Jenny woke early at some undefinable, dark hour of the morning to the sound of frantic pounding on her door. She leapt up, grabbed her saxe knife in her hand and crept to the door carefully, ready for danger at a moment’s notice. She opened it cautiously, knife poised, and found Lewis on the other side. His face was cast into sharp shadows by the night and half-frantic, his dark eyes wide with worry. 

“Lewis?” 

“It’s Gilan,” he breathed. “He’s hurt. They— they burned the flour mill— he— I’ve got him in a stable condition, but the bandits might still be nearby and I thought you’d want to know—”

Jenny’s blood ran abruptly ice-cold. “Can I see him?” 

He nodded. It took Jenny less than five minutes to get her equipment and saddle her horse. She and Lewis rode back together in silence, but she could tell he was worried, and she wished she knew what to say.

But there wasn’t time, and she had never been good with words anyways. 

“Where are we going?” she asked finally, because the silence was going to crush her if she had to bear it a moment longer. 

“Home,” Lewis replied, distracted and off-hand, momentarily throwing Jenny for a pause. She had known Gilan and Lewis were good friends, maybe even more than that, but if they were living together—

The horse came to a stop in front of a modest house, a single story with no porch, unlike her cabin. However, the roof had hangings from it, elaborately woven knots and pieces of glass strung together in ways that would catch the daylight. The whole place was exceedingly well taken care of, with stacks of firewood and what looked like dried herbs in the window, and a small lean-to set up to the side. Lewis leapt off the horse from behind her, crossed the grass swiftly to the door and motioned for Jenny to follow him. 

She stepped inside the house that still had the lamps lit. The air had a sweet, herby fragrance with bitter undertones. She remembered the herbs in the window. Gilan had mentioned that Lewis was a healer. The fact that he was might have saved Gilan’s life. 

Then she stepped into the living room and froze. Gilan was stretched out on a hastily laid-out cot, his arms wrapped in fresh bandages. She could see the creeping angry red of burns extending beyond the bindings, and smaller burns slathered in salve crossing his chest. He looked asleep, or unconscious— not dead, she could see him breathing. Still, the sight sent her heart into her throat. 

“Is he— well enough?”

Lewis nodded, knelt at Gilan’s side. His normally severe expression had gone, replaced by something softer between tenderness and grief. When she had seen him, his eyes had always been sharp and his smile slanted. He had been fire brought to life. Now in the dim light, his face was put into shadows, and his wrinkled brow made him look much older. The grief in his eyes was familiar. The pain of a healer who never knew if their patient would make it, if more blood would come to rest on their hands. 

The moment seemed so private, Jenny felt an intruder. She cleared her throat, shifted awkwardly. “I must get to the flour mill. If something happens— send for me or leave a note. Please.”

Lewis looked at her for a long moment, nodded again. She wanted to cross the room, rest her hand on his shoulder, do something, anything to fix this. 

“I’m sorry this happened,” she whispered instead. If she had been better, sharper, more alert, it might not’ve. But it had, and that was on her. “I’m just… sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Lewis rose, walked to her and squeezed her shoulder briefly. 

She gave him her best approximation of a smile, grasped his hand where it lay on her shoulder. She could feel the burning of tears coming on and forced them back with all of the power in her. This was not time to be weak or to break. She had a job to do. “Still.”

Jenny turned to the door and Lewis disappeared into one of the back rooms. She could hear him rooting around for something, accompanied by several clatters. She knew she had to leave, but she lingered for just a moment longer, looking at Gilan’s unstirring form. “Don’t you dare die, you idiotic beanpole.”

Then she took the horse, rode to the burning flour mill, and didn’t look back. 

~~~

A long while after Halt’s arrival, the matter of the bandits was finally sorted. It turned out to be deeper than they had thought, a set of coordinated attacks on the town by a bastard of a man named Jory Ruhl. The name rang a bell that she couldn’t quite place. The whole encounter ended badly with several injuries, and would have resulted in a lot of deaths if Jenny hadn’t lured him into a trap of his own devices. Now he was on his way to Araluen fief, packed off to be tried for his crimes. Jenny was headed back to Alement fief with a sprained wrist and some minor scrapes, back to her cabin and to check on Gilan. 

She and Halt had parted ways just a bit earlier. He’d pulled her aside, an arm around her shoulder and a rare fond expression on his worn face. 

“You did well,” he’d told her with the hint of a smile. A fresh burn was on the side of his face, covered by a linen patch, but he looked in remarkable good health considering their close encounter with death. “That could have gone a lot worse.” 

Jenny had shrugged, feeling embarrassed by the praise. It never felt like she had earned it. “I could have done better. I could have stopped a lot more people from getting hurt if I’d figured it out sooner.” 

Halt laid a hand on her shoulder then. “Jenny, mistakes happen, and sometimes things happen that you never plan for. If anything, just use this as a learning opportunity.” 

She had sighed, then nodded. 

They said their goodbyes, and now Halt was back on his way to Araluen. 

And she was headed to Gilan’s. It had been over a week she’d been gone, and she desperately hoped he was alright. It had hurt like tearing a wound to leave her friend behind when he was so badly injured, but she trusted Lewis and knew she had a duty. 

When she arrived at the cottage, with early morning light streaming through the windows and catching on the coloured glass just the way she thought it would, Gilan was awake. In fact, he was sitting up. He was looking out of the window when she came in, but he jumped when she shut the door behind her. His alarmed expression faded to a soft one when he recognised her. His tan skin looked sallow where it wasn’t patched with burns, but he was still brilliant and beautiful enough to make angels seem lacking. 

“Jenny,” he said, sounding as relieved as she felt. 

She gave him a slightly shaky smile, crossing the room to sit at the foot of his cot. “How are you feeling?”

Gilan gave a careless shrug, moved as if to fold his arms back behind his head and then winced. Jenny moved to help him but he motioned for her to stay back. She hung in that awkward limbo for a movement, then sat down again. Concern flared in her chest, but she forced it back and settled for watching. 

“I mean, other than the whole ‘almost being crisped up’ thing, I would say I’m well as ever. Even these scars couldn’t dull my handsomeness,” he said with a flash of a grin. Jenny couldn’t argue with the fact, and she laughed a bit. She would have laughed harder if she hadn’t seen the pain written into his eyes and movements. 

Gilan seemed to notice her concern, reaching out to touch her forearm. “Jenny, I’ll live.”

She sighed again, grasped his hand. Gently, ever so gently so that she wouldn’t hurt him. “I know.” 

_Still, I wish that I hadn’t let this happen to you._

~~~

The months passed and autumn came early in a rush of early morning frost and changing leaves. One by one, the trees turned to shades of red and orange and gold that littered the path in front of her cabin. She passed through them silently; that talent was one of the first ones all rangers learned. The town changed in preparation for winter, the fare and the layout of the houses and the clearing of the streets.

Now the tavern advertised hot drinks, now the soot had finally been washed from the streets, now plans to build a new flour mill were being translated into reality. Gilan wouldn’t have to rely on his current stores and expensive imported flour for much longer. 

If the shortage or the scars on his arms ever bothered him, he didn’t show it. He kept smiling and baking and showed up at her house still when he was able. He could have been normal as ever. 

But he had flinched when the stove had caught fire (Jenny had smothered it quickly, but it had been an unexpected scare) and Lewis told her privately that he was different at home too. 

She felt that there was something she could do to help. She just didn’t know what that was. 

One lazy and clear afternoon, they sat out on the front steps of Gilan’s house. Lewis had rushed off to town without explaining where he was going, only giving Gilan a conspirative nod that Jenny barely caught. It had raised some questions, but she let it go. The two of them were like one unit sometimes, a rare balance between them that seemed unshakeable. Lewis, the fire-tempered mother hen, and Gilan, easy and reckless. They’d endured everything— even a breakup, Gilan told her once with a sheepish smile in Lewis’ direction. A romance had upset that equilibrium too much, apparently, but now despite that they just seemed… stable. Content.

Jenny admired it, wished she had a friendship that was so steady and enduring. Lewis hadn’t seemed embarrassed or bitter about it, and neither had Gilan. 

Said boy currently was laying back on the steps, the sun lighting up his tanned skin. The angry burns had faded now to pink scars, and Lewis had been optimistic that the scarring would be almost unnoticeable within a year. 

But scars went deeper than looks, and Gilan still flinched at fire. 

A leaf blew down from one of the trees above, snagged in Jenny’s hair. She didn’t bother to remove it. “Are you alright?” 

Gilan’s eyes opened then, finding hers. They were the same hazel of the autumn around them, brown and gold and amber and green, shadowed underneath with the faint circles of a light sleeper. He looked relaxed now, his eyes were warm. “Course I am. Why?” The words would have sounded snappish if she didn’t know him better by now. He just liked to shrug things off. 

“I just… want to help. Everything.” 

Gilan paused, then smiled. “I know, Jenny.” The smile faded a bit, the way it often did now. “You can’t fix some of that stuff, though. Can’t fight fires that don’t exist.” 

She bit her lip, sighed quietly, as seemed to be a habit of hers. “I know. I just… care about you. A lot. I’m supposed to be a great ranger. I’m supposed to be a hero who was able to save you.” 

Gilan sat up then (not without a wince). His smile had vanished, replaced a more intent look on his face as he reached out, plucked the leaf from her curly hair. “Saving people doesn’t always mean that you just stopped them from being hurt by a fire. Sometimes it’s just being their friend.” He paused, his hand falling to grasp hers. “I care about you too, y'know. In ways more than one.” 

Jenny blinked at him. “More than one?” 

Gilan grinned then, the warm sun lighting him up from behind. “Take a guess.” 

A pause. A heartbeat. A blink of an eye, the fall of a leaf. 

Then: 

_Oh._

A puzzle piece seemed to click into place, and Jenny remembered months of tea and baking and walking hand-in-hand, quiet talks between Gilan and Lewis that she was never quite a part of. Lewis’ determined look. The way Gilan held her hand now.

“Ah.” She looked back towards him, raised an eyebrow. “Love, then?” 

Gilan shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe.” 

She smiled, then, closer to a grin, so wide it felt like sunshine. “Me too.” 

Silence from Gilan. Then they were both smiling, and laughing, and shaking their heads at themselves. No further words were said, none were needed to be said, no action needed to be taken. No kiss or dramatic confession. And for Jenny, well— that was perfect.

She had fallen for Gilan the same way one of their autumn leaves might fall from a tree, so soft and slow it was like floating and barely noticeable at all. She had fallen with little touches and hours of laughter, with cares and worries and fierce protectiveness. She had fallen in love the way one might fall into friendship, on sunshine and safety. Now she had hit the ground, now she knew. 

It was no great realisation. Rather simply a startled, happy, pleasant, _oh._

_Oh, it’s you. Hello._

_It’s been you for a while now._

And things were easy, as they so often were. They needed nothing else. Instead simply they headed back inside to check on the bread in the oven, and Jenny picked him up over her shoulder simply because she could, and he looked so incredulous she laughed all the more. And they talked for hours every day as per usual, and occasionally they shoved each other when they walked down the streets. Sometimes they wrote letters or poetry, sometimes said “I love you”, and nothing more than that. A kiss to the hand occasionally, or the sound of laughter ringing on the walls when they stayed at each other’s houses for the night. There was nothing grand, nothing more than that. 

Two friends, a bit silly and a bit in love, with no serious dedication or obligations to be anything more. 

And for them, that was… well, it had been said before, but it bore repeating. It was perfect. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope y’all enjoyed!
> 
> for reference, lewis belongs to @rangerthursday11 on tumblr


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